You Have Always Counted To Me
by Xin0Lan
Summary: These are the times when certain persons mattered to Sherlock Holmes. Sometimes it is John. Sometimes it is Mary. Sometimes it is others that have wormed their way into the consulting detective's guarded heart. It isn't always Molly. ABSOLUTELY NO slash, vulgarity, or hinted subtext!
1. Simply Beautiful

**Beautiful Baby**

* * *

_SETTING: Many years into the life of the Baker Street tenants. _

John Watson placed a small bundle in the eldest Holmes. "Bring the child to your father. He's waiting in room." The child did as told and walked carefully to Papa, who was entertaining the younger Holmes siblings and the older ones of the Watson children. "Papa, hold out your arms, the baby is here," a voice called out whilst placing the blankets into those long musician arms.

A muffled whimper escaped from the blankets and all noise cease at that moment. Every single child crowded around the adult eagerly awaiting their first look at the latest addition to the large blended family. Since the two families shared the same building the children became collectively know as Watson-Holmes or vice versa.

"At last the anticipation is over, what does the child look like?" Sherlock said and signed in the air at the same time then waited. A pair of delicate fingers came reaching out from the left slipped under his and signed, "A beautiful baby. Eyes small and oval with little wisps of soft fuzz poking from the head. Feel the features, they are so tiny." Papa traced his fingertips lightly over the sleeping baby's oval eyes and soft fuzz, then held the itty bitty fist in the palm of his hand. "Yes, you are right indeed. A beautiful baby," Sherlock signed with one hand.

A few minuets later Doctor Watson came in wearing a big smile and his white coat. "Daddy! Daddy!" his youngest ones cried joyfully jumping up and down, "Did you see the baby? Isn't the baby beautiful? That's what Papa says, is he right?"

"Of course. Papa is never wrong when it comes to observing." Daddy answered, kneeling besides Papa to look at the newborn. "Truly a miracle Sherlock. Just like all of our children when each were born. She is resting, shall we give our congratulations now to them?"

"Yes, I'm sure the children will be glad to finally see Mummy." Sherlock handed the infant back to John and stood up straightening his suit. A small delicate hand cemented itself in Sherlock's and led him out behind John, and with the rest of the the children trailing like little ducklings.

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**A-N: Did you enjoy it? I hope you did. I really like writing this vague form of writing, it lets the reader decide a lot of the storyline subconsciously. Read "Please, Don't Go!" as another example of such writing. **

**I'd love to know your answer to the questions: **

**1- What is the gender of each child mentioned: the messenger, the one who is deaf, the newborn and what made you think of that? **

**2- Who's child is it: Holmes' or Watson's? (Did you have to reread part of it because your brain subconsciously assigned the child as Watson's knowing John is a doctor and is handing the child away?)**

**It is highly unlikely two persons will say the same answers for all the aforementioned characters. **

**"Watching Over Each Other" has been updated and currently working on the next chapter. Yea, no writer's block for me at the moment. I hope it stays like this.**


	2. Some Days

-Some Days-

* * *

Yesterday felt like heaven on earth.

Yesterday felt like paradise.

Yesterday the sun shone.

X

Today was the complete opposite.

Today was just terrible.

Today the sun hid behind a down pour of massive raindrops.

X

Sherlock woke up with a piercing headache.

Sherlock ran into the armoire door this morning.

Sherlock punched the faucet this morning.

Sherlock cut his finger breaking the teacup.

Sherlock barrelled into the corner of the table.

X

Today was not good. Molly knew.

Molly sighed sadly then determination sat in her eyes.

Molly pleaded for enough strength to see the day end.

X

Molly dressed him in the black suit.

Molly kissed his bruised hand.

Molly made his tea.

Molly tended to his cut.

Molly read to him.

Molly made him eat.

X

Sherlock curled up in his chair.

Sherlock wandered in his Mind Palace.

Sherlock went back to yesterday's bliss.

Sherlock didn't want to leave there.

Sherlock didn't want his Estella.

Sherlock didn't want his Work.

X

Lestrade didn't call for his help.

Lestrade brought drinks over.

Lestrade brought desserts.

X

The Watsons came over for supper.

The Watsons stayed late.

The Watsons told their childhood stories.

The Watsons made The Holmes laugh.

The Watsons made Sherlock forget his misery.

X

Molly didn't say a word about his experiment left on the kitchen table.

Molly didn't say a word about the flat being disorganised.

Molly didn't say a word about him not doing anything productive all day.

X

Sherlock felt helpless.

Sherlock felt trapped.

Sherlock felt depressed.

Sherlock felt angry at everything.

Sherlock shouted at John.

Sherlock snapped at Molly.

X

Sherlock felt guilty.

Sherlock apologised.

Sherlock meant what he said.

John hugged him, then forgave him.

Molly kissed him and held him tight.

She had already forgiven every wrong word he might say that morning.

X

Sherlock's shoulder hurt from the armoire.

Sherlock's hand hurt from the cut and bruise.

Sherlock's head spun out of control.

X

Molly massaged his pain.

Molly dressed his wounds.

Molly read to him.

Molly built the fire strong.

Molly laced her fingers in his.

Molly sat there in silence basking in its warmth with him.

X

Molly trace his visage with a gentle finger.

Molly kissed his scarred hands decorated by the toll of his work.

Then his flushed cheeks painted by the glowing flame.

Then his beautiful glistening yet unseeing eyes void of any light.

Then his sweet lips and murmured, "I love you. I will always be at your side."

X

Tomorrow the sky would be blue and beautiful. But not today.

Some days the sky was black and ominous. That was today.

There would be many more Worst Days to come.

This was neither their first not last of the Worst Days.

On the worst days when nothing seemed to go properly for Sherlock, he knew the one aspect would never fail him.

Some days were beautiful and somedays were miserable, but everyday he had his best friend who was also his loving wife.

The end.

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**A-N: I hope you enjoyed this difference in writing.**

**Still working on "Watching Over Each Other" **

**Latest chapter has been posted. **


	3. Night at the Cafe

**Night at the Cafe**

* * *

"Bang!"

An alarming thud landed at the foot of the staircase, but Mrs. Hudson didn't even flinch from sipping her tea, just merely screeched, "Sherlock Holmes! How many times have I told you NOT to slide down the banister?!" Said man stood absolutely still counting the seconds, then just as predicted, there was an awful hiss of a chair being scrapped along the wood floor followed by short deliberate steps of heels clicking. Judging by its sound, Sherlock concluded his landlady had gone out with her friends that afternoon donned in her favourite dress. That pastel blue dress with the white floral pattern was always worn with those particular heels he heard just now, and she only wore that dress if she had somewhere special to be.

He merely rolled his eyes and huffed annoyingly a reply, "Far too many times, I lost count after the third day I discovered this was the most efficient way of travelling down the flight of steps. It has been exactly two months now, I have no desire to change my newfound habit." He straightened his coat and scarf, then whipped out his Sword. Besides, If you think about Mrs. Hudson, this is actually the safest means of travelling given my condition. If I were to travel by dreadfully ordinary and conventional means, then there is always the chance of me missing a step or misjudging a distance, to which I could fall and break several bones. That would only create a plethora of unnecessary issues." He stabbed the floor twice as if to emphasise his point.

"it really isn't the safest way, but just be careful and come home in one piece all safe and sound, can you do that for me?" Before he could open his mouth to reply, Mrs. Hudson smothered him with a bone-crushing hug.

_Nope! I won't have broken bones from falling down the stairs, it will come from my landlady. How reassuring... Ugh! Gives me the chills just imagining this!_

"Mrs. Hudson!" He finally managed to say whilst trying batting away her hands, and failing at it, "I'm fine. Do stop fussing over me. My scarf was tied perfectly fine, now the seams are twisted. No! My coat collar Always stays up. Molly likes it that way, and it annoys John. Double success. Goodbye. I will come home later. Do keep yourself warm though. It is suppose to drop tonight."

* * *

Braving the cold winter winds and armed with his Sword, Sherlock sauntered to the café where he and Molly had planned to meet for a meal. There was no reason to rush; it was barely a ten minuet walk but he didn't want to be late, for Molly was never late on their meetings.

Molly caught sight of him crossing the last intersection, thus rushed to the end of the pavement to greet him. A little voice in her head observed: _Sherlock, just look at you! Six months ago no one would have even imagined this, you taking on the streets without a single faltering step. You doubted yourself too. I'm so proud of you._

"Sherlock!"

He stopped and smiled at his name. Only one person in the world was able to call his name in that exact manner with a specific pronunciation and syllable stress.

"Molly," he reached out for her. The hand received a quick squeeze from a small delicate one. "How are you? Hungry?"

"I'm fine. Not hungry. Let's have dinner," she replied with a voice full of humour. He hooked his free arm around her petite form, and they entered the café together.

* * *

The discussion during dinner was lively and somewhat work oriented, so much talk of dead bodies and crime scenes would have turned away most from dinning, but the couple thrived in that topic. It was, as awkward as it seemed, their bonding element. _Cadavers._

Listening to Sherlock describe his latest success from the Yard, Molly absentmindedly reached out and straightened out the folds on his scarf. He became aware of her touch a moment later and stopped mid-sentence, "Molly, how much time have you been spending with Mrs. Hudson?"

"Not particularly more than usual, why do you ask?"

"Because this," clasping his hands over hers and chuckled at the thought from earlier, "is exactly what Mrs. Hudson fusses about constantly. She straightened my scarf just before I left the flat."

"Well then, I can only surmise that she also reprimanded you for sliding down the banister again," she battened his hand away playfully continuing to straighten his appearance, "oh don't look so surprised. I know you better than you think. You did, didn't you? Only because the Watsons are away right now. It's good they live with you so you don't do it often."

"Why must everyone worry about it? I did it all the time as a child, granted it did drive Mummy furious, but Mycroft did it too! Can you imagine the little plump doughnut rolling down the stairs! It was such a sight to see. Father always laughed which made Mummy angry with him too." Sherlock chucked at the memory.

"What I would give to see my brother-in-law to be in that state! I can only dream of such a silly moment," Molly's expression lost the cheerfulness a second later," I worry, Mrs. Hudson and the Watsons worry because we never forgot what happened that one time you tried that stunt. I'm sure you remember too, don't you? It scared us Sherlock, maybe not for you because you were not conscious for most if it. Her voice grew more and more unsettled at the events replayed in her mind, "Just went flying down the banister and flung yourself right into the front door with a solid thwack then the floor equally hard. Knocked you senseless for quite a time all because you misjudged the length of the banister left to slide. We saw the after effect, a lifeless heap of coat and sprawled out limbs."

Sherlock rubbed her hand gently, "Molly, I don't forget, I never will. It never will happened again. It won't happen again. Ok?"

"Can you promise me not to do it ever again, please?" She kissed his hand, "You don't know Sherlock, it could happen again. What if no one was home when it happened, you would have been there for a lot time without care."

"Very well, I will do my best to refrain from it. I'm sorry I frightened you," he kissed her hand, "Is our dessert ever going to come?" Sherlock huffed an annoyed sigh, so Molly glanced around the room hoping to catch sight of their tray, then her eyes grew wide when she saw the sweet. "Sherlock, what on earth is this? This isn't on the menu at all, so extravagant!"

"I take you like it then given your expression of surprise. The owner owes me a few favours so I asked for his specialty dessert as partial payment of it. He was the head chef at a well-known high class restaurant, but the management changed so he started up the café instead. A few mishaps in between so that's where I helped out." He inched his fingers across the table until it came in contact with the cold plate, then pushed it in front of his pathologist. "Eat, I assure you it is quite good."

Molly giggled softly at the fancy chocolate covered dish sitting before her, she took a strawberry and bite of cake on her fork and examined it, "It looks too pretty to eat!"

"Of course you would say that," Sherlock stifled a small laugh, "...just eat it, it'll taste bad if you let it sit out too long." Molly ate her bite and took another one. "Open," she said cupping his chin with her free feeding him a bite of the heavenly dessert. "Thank you Sherlock, I really enjoyed this. All of it." With a mouth full of chocolate fluffiness it was impossible to respond, so he just nodded and smiled.

Taking turned feeding each other they finished off the dessert quickly, but not before creating a little food fight, seeing who could get the most chocolate whipped crème on the other person's face. With full tummies and happy hearts, hither two lovebirds set off to their next place on their Favourite Places List: the park at night because of its serenity with barely anyone wandering its grounds.

* * *

**A-N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. **

**Follows, favourites, and comment are more than appreciated.**


	4. But it IS a Fairytale!

**THE FIRST**

* * *

SETTING : Firstborn Holmes at five years old.

* * *

The child, dressed in his sleepwear, bounced up and down on his bed eagerly waiting for his Papa to come. Every single night, without fail, Papa would come to his room talk with him.

Sometimes Papa told him about cases he finished. Sometimes Papa told him about his extended family, The Watsons, and all the adventures the four of them had long before he married Mummy. (He called his courtship with her as "a very interesting and determined lady that I should like to know better outside of St. Barts morgue.") Only on the rarest of occasions, when he was in the best of spirits would the child hear stories about his Papa's childhood.

Tonight felt like one of those 'rarest occasion' nights because a huge and complicated case that had dragged on for weeks finally closed this afternoon making Papa and Mummy in the best of moods. They celebrated with Angelo's signature chef's specialty dish, and brought home the rest in a take away box for their son and Mrs. Hudson to enjoy.

"Papa," Edward took his father's hands and place them over his own, "Will you tell me a story? Please!"

"Very well, what would you like?" Papa smiled at his son, he enjoyed the time he had with him. His Work could always wait. At one point in time Work was the only thing Papa cared about, but now it was second rate to his family. "Tell me again about how you met Mummy,"came the reply.

"Edward. That's not a story, stories are fantasy, like fairytales. It is The good versus The evil and 'they lived happily ever after' endings. How I met your mother is reality, besides you already know the story. What if I told you one of Edgar Poe's mystery stories instead, you enjoy them, don't you?"** Edward's hands went limp in his father's for a moment as he thought.

"You're wrong Papa," his son began, "It is a story. You met Mummy a very long time ago, long before the Uncle John came to solve cases with you. You said many things happened before I was born, some bad things and some good things. There was someone bad, but now he's gone. So the evil is gone and the good has won, now you have Mummy and me, the good part, right? Aren't we living in the 'happily ever after' part?" Edward buried his smiling face in Papa's gentle hand whilst the elder one absentmindedly ran his fingers de-tangling a mass of unruly dark curls.

You are my son, in every way possible, only you would think in such an unorthodox way. Never one to go with the usual, do you? Fairytales!? Does Moriarty relentlessly taunt me, even from the grave, at every chance he gets? "Every fairytale needs a good old fashion villain..."

"I suppose you're right Edward, but I want you to never forget that this world is not a fairytale. This is the real world, and many many bad things happen. If you ever start to forget then just think about what Mummy and I do for work. There is no such thing as true 'happily ever after'", Sherlock replied with hopes of instilling those words of wisdom into the young mind.

_It is wrong to deceive a child, tell what must be said, but never ever lie. It will have disastrous consequences._

"Oh, I understand Papa," he snuggled close to his father basking in the protection of those strong arms, "Still, please tell me again how you and Mummy met. I like it a lot."

Allowing himself to be drawn into his son's innocent thinking raised his hands and began with the famous words, "Once upon a time there lived..."

* * *

About the time Sherlock reached the point when Edward would be born, his child was fast asleep against his chest. Kissing Edward's head softly, Papa laid him on the pillow and straighten his duvet.

He heard a soft breath come from the threshold of the room and whispered, "Molly? How long have you been standing there?"

"Yes, it is me. For no more than a minuet Sherlock, my handsome knight in shinning armour," she pecked his cheek before leading him to the sitting room already prepared with a fresh pot of Earl Grey.

"Not you also into this of fairytale rubbish," he commented with gentle sarcasm as soon his wife nestled herself in his arms, "it really isn't good for Edward to think about it. Doesn't help him at all, it will only disappoint him when he is older."

"He should think about it Sherlock, then he will understand the differences between reality and fantasy. Teach them whilst young. Besides he is right on one account, our story is a fairytale. Everything that happened when and before we were dating was the Evil, but now I have you, Edward, and our wonderful friends. Who would have thought any of this to be like this for us?" She placed a hot cup in his hand then took a sip from her own. His brow knit in deep thought considering what his family told him about fairytale.

_Perhaps they are right after all in this instance...It is true the evil Moriarty is reduced to merely a pile of bones under a mound of dirt...didn't even get a rock...didn't deserve a fancy rock anyway...but surely all this rubbish about damsels in distress and knights in shinning armour certainly doesn't fit either Molly or me. She dated a consulting criminal, certainly does not qualify as a 'damsel in distress' by my account._

"No, I would have never imagined myself in this position. Never. A husband and a father?! That certainly wasn't on my agenda at all, but now I don't know what position I'd rather be in than this," he handed the cup back to her, so he would have a free arm to wrap around his wife. "I'm glad you think this way Sherlock, almost every little girl as dreamed her wedding and married life, but for the dream to become this? It is much better than what I thought as a child. Especially with Edward."

"I concur. Speaking of which, I think it is appropriate time for Edward to come to work with us now. Mrs. Hudson looks after him quite a lot. He is of a suitable age, ordinary things that would frighten a child don't frighten him. You work tomorrow, why don't we take him in? I can show him my latest experiment and you can show him what you do." Sherlock turned to his wife with a look of hopefulness.

She poked his cheek playfully, "Stop looking at me like that! You're scaring me." "Like what?" He countered in feigned ignorance then made his eyes and smile wider, "like this?"

"Yes! You know exactly what I mean. If he want to, he can come tomorrow, " she poked his smile forcing it to be less 'creepy-looking'. "The director doesn't mind a child...well...because after meeting you he said, and I quote: 'If I can handle your husband' strange ways, then I can handle anyone else that come to the lab.'"

"Perfect! Where's Estella, could you bring me her?" ^^ Molly got up and retrieved the delicate violin from its stand by the window and placed in those nimble fingers. "Thank you, now I think you should go to bed. It is late and I predict there will be a lot of reports to work on." Molly kissed him goodnight then fell asleep to the sounds of Estella sing the melody Sherlock composed the day Edward was born.

* * *

**A-N: Reading chapter 10 "Surprises in Signs" in Watching Over Each Other might help you understand how the father and son converse.**

**I hope you enjoyed the addition of little Edward. He might return in later stories- I don't know- I write as the ideas come.**

**Speaking of which, any ideas for semi-platonic or romantic Sherlolly I would gladly take and write a story for.**

**Comments, follows, and favourites are the highlight of my day. :)**

**^^ More information about Estella is found in A HEART ONE WOULD NEVER EXPECT.**

****Edgar Poe is the founder of mystery novels featuring detectives and solving crimes, and who is credited with the start of the Science Fiction genre. Many believe Doyle as the start of such novel, but in fact he himself made mention of Poe.**

**Tip of the hat to this wonderful Gothic author for all his works and paving the way for others.**

**«Poe's early detective fiction tales featuring C. Auguste Dupin laid the groundwork for future detectives in literature. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle said, "Each [of Poe's detective stories] is a root from which a whole literature has developed...Where was the detective story until Poe breathed the breath of life into it?" ~ Courtesy of: The Poe Encyclopedia: Frank, Frederick S.; Magistrale, Anthony (1997)»**


	5. Change is Good

**Change is Good **

* * *

It was a quiet evening with nothing much going on. Dinner had just finished, and the Watsons were in the kitchen washing up the plates, so that left Molly needing to find something to occupy herself. She had been banned from the kitchen that evening, it was suppose to be an enjoyable night with her fiancé, thus- per doctor's orders- forbidden to cook or clean at all that weekend. Her fiancé, who took as much interest in washing up as a cat in water, was glad he had gotten out free in his turn to do "brain-rotting" work, as he so affectionately called it.

"Molly," he addressed her from His seat, "What would you like to do this evening? John tells me that I am suppose to let you decide these sort of activities and not complain."

"I don't know. Did you have anything in mind?" Molly opened his arms so she could sit sideways in his lap.

He wrapped his arms around her small frame and laird his chin on her shoulder, "Several ideas, but I do not know if they constitute as appropriate activities for these "date nights", John didn't give specifics on what was acceptable."

A cheerful laugh rang in his ears before his fiancée spoke, " Sherlock, I have known you for so many years now, long before John came into the picture. I know you are never one to follow social norms, if you did, I would be worried. Tell me them."

"Very well," he ticked them off his fingers as he described each one, "First, we could start a new experiment on the properties of corrosive acids on the pair of lungs you gave me the other day, or we could experiment on the eyeball. I've been eager to test it's resilience to a variety of chemicals and other fluids, but I need someone to help me. No one will, " he then leaned toward her ear and whispered," I wouldn't tell John though about this. He's been adamantly opposing any talk of it long before the ocular surgery happened. He felt Molly's hand slightly twitch so he hastily amended, "If those don't suit your liking, what if I let Estella sing for you? Or you could pick something else?"

"I like the last option best. You promised to let me hear your latest composition. It's finished?" He nodded. She continued, "I do have to agree with John though, I really dislike the notion of you experimenting on yourself, even if it isn't attached to you anymore. I don't even want to know how you managed to get the eye anyway, there are all sorts of rules and paperwork for that type of business," she brushed his curls away from his forehead and ran her finger lightly around the space where the missing organ had once resided. "It doesn't hurt anymore, does it?"

"Not like it did three months ago," he murmured enjoying her cool touch. "What about this one? The right eye," she asked and gently brushing his eyes closed, "does it bother you?"

"I ignore it and it goes away. Simple matter of tricking the brain into thinking about something else." He shrugged nonchalantly and turned away.

"Sherlock," she warned,"don't try to be tough. If tricking the brain is your solution to pain, then why the surgery for the left? If I recall correctly, prior to its removal, you felt miserable constantly. Could barely walk a straight line at times or much less Work properly." An indescribable expression flickered for a moment in his features before returning to their usual stoic setting.

He didn't have a response to her flawless logic, so just sat there silently contemplating question she posed.

_ Maybe the mind isn't as powerful as it is. Maybe something's just can't be overcome with thinking alone. Regardless of why the surgery was performed, the eye needed to be removed. It was the most logical course of action. It had ceased taking in light about four years ago, but the past year it was giving me constant pain- particularly headaches. It made record keeping for my Mind Palace extremely difficult. Near impossible at times. So it was the only available course of action to take because it lacked use anymore. Perfectly logical._

"I know when you're fibbing. It hurts a lot. In fact, it hurts quite a deal right now. Yes?" He conceded to answering her honestly thus gave a short nod. She lightly brushed his eyelid closed again, then circled the eyeball with very gentle massage-like movements. "It's okay to accept the pain and say it out loud. No one with think less of you if you do so, Sherlock."

"It is not in my nature to voice expressions of any kind," he countered, "You know that Molly Hooper."

"That's true, but that doesn't mean you can't change. Now, let me hear this newest one." She retrieved Estella and placed it in those talented hands, then huddled on the sofa waiting for her private concert to start.

* * *

He spent an hour playing all his favourite compositions from Bach, Brahms, and Vivaldi before adding in his own pieces to the repertoire.

At the end of the last note he bowed gracefully accepting Molly's applause, "They're quite lovely Sherlock. You really do have a talent for music, unlike me. I just never could count the rhythm properly and play at the same time."

"You could, takes practise. Here. Let's start with something simple," Sherlock held Estella like a guitar and plucked four steady notes,"clap your hands in time with each note. Good. Now keep clapping and I will play a note every time you don't clap, which is called the offbeat." Molly tried the syncopated rhythm and stumbled a few times before she succeeded in keeping the beat.

"There. It isn't that hard now, is it?" Sherlock held out Estella to her, "I have another thing to show you. Take her here by the neck and place her on your left shoulder." Molly did so then took his hand placing it on the violin's bridge allowing him to feel her posture before making a few minor adjustments to it.

She was learning how to count rhythms and play the violin whilst Sherlock learnt how not to be so ridged in keeping his feelings buried down in logic.

* * *

**A-N: I wrote this one and the latest chapter of WOEO (A Agreeable Trade) at the same time, hence the huge similarity in setting. Thanks for putting up with that! See you soon again! **


	6. Of Course You Are

** But Of Course You Are! Don't Be Silly! **

* * *

Dropping his school bag loudly on the wooded table in the sitting room was Edward's way of announcing his presence to Papa, but Mummy wish he wouldn't because every time he did there would be another scratch added to the collection made by his father and his more questionable experiments. _Like father like son, some things don't change._

Today, he was busy on the phone listening to a recording of Lestrade's report on the latest case because he stated plainly to the DI that morning,"it is too dull for making an effort to visit the crime scene." It had something about two robber that couldn't find the money, so decided to become murderers instead and with a judge involved.**

Edward liked it when Papa took him along to cases for the purpose of teaching, not helping, that was John's job. They had a system worked perfectly for visiting crime scenes, Mummy filled in occasionally when John was unable to leave his flat, but it didn't run as smoothly. It was an unspoken and indescribable way of how John knew exactly what and how much Papa wanted to see, and would describe it with the most precise words.

Papa heard his son come in and was listening for the usual routine of sounds: First the school bag on the table, then multitasking between the biscuit jar opened and getting a cup of juice, finally with snack in hand Edward would come sit on the sofa and watch the telly. But none of that happened today, instead his son just flung himself on the sofa and face planted in the pillow with a soft thud. This intrigued Sherlock, he stopped the recording and sat straight.

_Something isn't right._

Reaching out until his hand brushed Edward's shoulder and got his attention, "Don't you want a biscuit and some juice?" He shook his head sadly. "You always take a biscuit when you come home from school. Something unpleasant happened in school today judging by your lack of appetite and unhappy state. Tell me about today at school Edward."

"Papa, are we normal?" Edward signed into father's hands. For a boy of almost seven, this wasn't the typical question every parent would hear their child ask. Sherlock contemplated the question for a moment before signing back, "We?" His son signed in shorthand 'yes, us two' emphatically.

So he then continued on, "It's an interesting question. It depends on how you look at it."

"But that's my point!" Edward immediately responded,"you can't see! Are we not normal then, Papa?" Sherlock nodded his head in understand, now he knew what kind of answer his son was seeking.

"Where did you get this idea of 'normal' come from?" Sherlock leaned forward, it certainly was becoming more interesting. Not at all what he had expected.

"From some classmates. They saw us together at the park with Mum the other day when we were helping you solve the Mouse case. I saw their faces and pointing today. They weren't nice at all, and even left me a note in my notebook about both of us. I found it at the end of the day." He fished out of the pocket a crumpled piece of paper scrawled with some unkind words fighting back the urge to cry again. "It made me angry, but I couldn't do anything about it. All the boys went home already, I wanted to punch them over and over to make them take back what they wrote. To say they're sorry and mean it. It's not fair!" Edward finished dejectedly.

Papa's blood started to boil slightly, Mycroft would be hearing about this little situation once he was done with his son. There would be some immediate changes to take place. No one should act like that to anyone. "I'm glad they left because if you had started a fight then it would have created a very big problem for you and the school. Now, back to your original question, I will answer it with this cliché phrase: 'what is normal?' Everyone's definition of normal is different, even the dictionaries cannot define it exactly the same."

The young child pondered his papa's question, "'normal' really doesn't mean anything, does it? Papa could see a long time ago, but that was when he first moved to Baker Street and was considered 'normal'. Being 'normal' didn't give him any super powers, but being different didn't give it to him either. What does it matter if I am deaf and my papa is blind? We still look like everyone else, and even if we didn't, it doesn't matter. Besides, there are many things 'normal' people do not know what Papa and I understand. Each person is normal in their own way."

At last his son replied,"It doesn't matter if we're different, a person is a person no matter how small they are+. Or how they aren't even alike in some ways."

"Yes, that is correct," Papa smiled one of his rare and genuine smiles,"Don't worry about those who wrote the note, they're not worthy of your thoughts if they will only make you angry."

"You're right Papa!" We are normal." Edward beamed with happiness, the hurt and anger his classmates gave him was receding quickly.

"Don't be silly, of course you are and always will be. Now come, I have a new experiment at the morgue. Let's go check its progress. Get me my coat please."

* * *

****Truman Capote's novel "In Cold Blood". It is a true story. The author spoke with family, friends, and police/court as he wrote the account. It is an interesting account with a good thought at the end. I just suggest you read it or at least the novel's synopsis.**

**+Quote taken from Dr. Seuss.**

**A-N: I wrote this during the flight and on the bus. The hotel has good wifi and I am very glad of it, the previous nights were absolutely rubbish! If I have another place with good wifi, I will post the next chapter of Watching Over Each Other. I am almost done with it.**


	7. He's Different - Part I

**Part I- Sherlock is Anxious**

* * *

Sherlock was anxious. Really anxious. He was never worried about anything, but here he was. Anxious. Impatient. Worried. Stressed. Frustrated. Any thought of hiding his emotional state was a lost cause, it was clearly evident in his unusual behaviours.

There he and John were in the waiting room, waiting. (Obviously) but one was not waiting patiently at all. A stressful Sherlock snapping insulting comments to the staff did little to help the overall mood of the patient room. It was to the best arrangements for John to take Sherlock away until things had settled a bit more. So now they were here. In the waiting room. Waiting until 'someone' had settled his temper with the staff.

He sat down and crossed his legs, then uncrossed them. Stood up. Sat down. Stood up again. Paced the room. Then stood next to the chair. Next he squatted on the chair. Stood ON the chair and let gravity tip it over before he hopped off and started pacing the room. Again.

When he exhausted all means of abusing the poor chair, he settled with entertainment from his clothing. First his Belstaff coat. On. Off. On. Off. Buttoned then unbuttoned. Then a repeat with his suit jacket. At last he decided to leave both garments on, but not buttoned.

_Then his scarf. Oh that scarf... That dreaded scarf..._

He took it off and folded it nearly over his arm, then in the next minuet it was back around his neck tied in a different fashion. He adjusted the seams. Fiddled with the tag, detangled the fringe. He took it off in the following minuet, and crumpled it in the coat pocket. The next time John looked at his friend, the cloth was back around his neck. Again. Tied in a new style. He adjusted the seams. Again. Thrice actually.

John just about had it with his patience limit. He caught the mad man's hand from touching his scarf for probably the millionth time in the whole time the two were in the waiting room. John was about to strangle him with the "cloth rope," so dragged him to the previously abused chair by a tight grip on the wrist.

"Sit," he ordered sternly, "Don't speak. Don't move a muscle, and for the sake of sanity. Do not touch your scarf."

Sherlock subjected himself to Captain Watson, not John Watson. He merely gave a curt nod and folded his hands in his lap.

Gone was the Captain Watson persona, now Best Friend John Watson spoke, "Sherlock, do calm down. You'll give yourself a heart attack with the stress on you. It'll be fine. Ok? Just sit here quietly, calmly, and absolutely still. I will be right back with a drink."

John dashed off to the closest drink machine and came back to find his friend exactly as he had remained with his head titled back resting on the wall lost in his Mind Palace.

"Here," John placed a steaming cup of Earl Grey in his hand. "Drink this slowly, you will feel better. Once you're done we can go visit them. Ok?"

"Very well, as you say." Sherlock downed the hot liquid as fast as his throat could take it, so it was only a short bit later when the two left the waiting area for the room.

* * *

John rapped the door lightly before Mary answered it accompanied with a sympathetic smile. She took Sherlock's arm and led him to a chair seated close by the bed. John followed suit pulling out an additional chair for his wife.

"Sherlock, you look rubbish! What have you done to yourself? John, something for explaining you have?" Molly opened her eyes and was greeted with a sight of her husband in a very dishevelled stated due to his prior activity with the scarf, coat, and chair. His hair was ruffled into a mess coupled with the dress shirt having too many creases.

"I have done nothing to myself Molly. How are you feeling? Are the doctor's at least decent in their work? Mycroft assured me he only provided the best, if he didn't, then I will be having a serious conversation with him. One that may not go well with him."

She pulled his hand causing him to lean down over her bed, then ran her fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth out the wild curls. "There, now you don't look as scary. Don't worry, I have faith Mycroft did well because everything here so far has been pleasant." The three others gave quizzical glance at the 'been pleasant', so she hastily added. "Well, you know what I mean." A sharp wince punctuated her sentence causing her to grimace in pain. "This isn't like before," she forced out trying to fight the pain, "I think it is..." Neither John nor Sherlock heard the end of the sentence before they rushed off to summon the doctor and midwife.

**TBC. Part II is in progress. It will be added as soon as it is finished. Thank you for reading!**


	8. He's Different- Part II

**Part 2 - Sherlock is Overwhelmed**

* * *

_She pulled his hand causing him to lean down over her bed, then ran her fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth out the wild curls. "There, now you don't look as scary. Don't worry, I have faith Mycroft did well because everything here so far has been pleasant." The three others gave quizzical glance at the 'been pleasant', so she hastily added. "Well, you know what I mean." A sharp wince punctuated her sentence causing her to grimace in pain. "This isn't like before," she forced out trying to fight the pain, "I think it is..." Neither John nor Sherlock heard the end of the sentence before they rushed off to summon the doctor and midwife._

* * *

With the medical staff on the heels of the two men, the four burst unceremoniously into the patient room. "Molly!" Sherlock called out not caring for all the emotions his voice betrayed. He released his grip on John's arm and headed for her bedside, but was interrupted with Mary pushing him toward a chair instead. "Sit, Sherlock. You can stay here next to Molly, but let them do their job."

"But Mary, I...Molly?" Sherlock said in defeat whilst reaching out for his wife.

"I'm fine Sherlock. I mean I will be. Don't worry. This is the best thing that will happen to us." She arrested his groping hand and kissed it.

It had been quite a long time now since it first started, but the sight of her husband reaching aimlessly for her always sent a sharp prick to her heart. Many who have met him didn't even know he was that until he pointed it out whilst insulting their intelligence. It wouldn't be "Sherlock" if he left off an insult. He certainly didn't 'look it' and his refined movement didn't give it away that easily, but she never forgot. It was impossible to do so, she felt it would be unloving to do so.

As if she could actually forget...impossible...

Molly had made her mind clearly expressed many months ago when she wanted only three people to be with her during the delivery time. She held onto Sherlock's hand through out the whole ordeal. Actually it was more of strangling his hand and nearing breaking his metacarpals, but thankfully he knew better that to say anything at that time. He was terrified out of wits end, and it there was no hiding that fear no matter how hard he tried. John was (for just a moment) very guiltily enjoying his best mate's discomfort from his place next to Mary, yet finally did concede to his compassionate doctoring side and tried to settle the poor father's nerves.

It wasn't often that Sherlock displayed a human side with emotional sentiment. In a way, his closest friends were his guidelines for knowing how to act properly in any situation. Right now, he needed guidance on something that he thought he never would have needed.

A family.

* * *

The birth went smoothly and without any complications to the child or mother. He didn't cry. Just stared at the doctor whisking him away to be cleaned and clothed.

The new mum kissed her husband's hand, which was pink from being squeezed so hard. "A son Sherlock. Your son."

He, in turn, kissed her forehead,"No, our son and I'm sure he will behave just like you."

During the time the baby was briefly away, the Watsons congratulated the new parents. A beautiful boy who clearly had the resemblance of his parents. There was no doubt. The hair, features, and eye colour certainly took then blend of his parents.

Sherlock was too worked up to follow along with the moments of congratulations. A thousand questions and 'what ifs' flooded his mind. They came crashing in unexpectedly, therefore, effectively breaking down the walls of his Mind Palace. It was an absolute havoc and Sherlock was trapped beneath all of its rubble.

_:No! No! Stop!_

_:System overload._

_'How do I do this? What if this happens? I have a child to care for, what now?' So many voices at once. Who is speaking? I can't understand a single thing. Too loud. Too much movement I feel around me._

_:Must repair system immediately._

_:Restoration in progress._

_:Restoration failed._

_:Searching for troubleshoot data._

He was cradling his head and rocking back and forth trying to drown out the noise both in the room and in his mind.

"Sherlock!" his wife and friends shouted loudly. They had never seen him behave like this degree before. Small scale overloads were a chance occurrence, but this was getting too much for him.

He didn't hear them.

_...no stop the noise...please. It is too much!_

_Wait! Heat. Where is the source? Searching..._

A single touch from John brought the shaking man to sit rigidly. He placed his hand over the heat source. John's hand was on his shoulder.

_Why? What was going on? Was everything all right? Why is everything so disorganised?_

Sherlock was finally coming off his 'high' of feeling the emotion overload and John was eyeing him critically making sure the new father didn't pass out from his sensory system overloading in the process.

He grabbed Sherlock square in the shoulders, ordered sharply but softly, "Sherlock. Stop breathing. Good. Now slowly let out a breath."

Sherlock did as told repeatedly until he could feel his body returning to a more normal state. His breaths became more steady and calmer, everyone was pleased.

A small crisis was handled skilfully and now everyone was waiting for the newborn child to return.

* * *

**A-N: Sorry for the delay in updating this second half. Please read the note in "Watching Over Each Other", which has also been updated. **

**I hope you've enjoyed these little clips into the Baker Street bunch. I anticipate one finally part for this "He's Different" to close off this story and move on to another one. **

**As always: Comments and suggestions are more than appreciated. **


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